


Champions of the Just

by Halfblood_Fiend



Series: It Has Always Been You (Inquisitor Viktoriea Trevelyan X Commander Cullen Rutherford) [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Feeeeels, Fighting, Mage-Templar War, Mages and Templars, PTSD, Self Loathing, Violence, inner turmoil, some gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-07 20:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4276503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfblood_Fiend/pseuds/Halfblood_Fiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced to finally hunt down the mage camp in the Hinterlands, Viktoriea is faced with a terrible decision. It feels heavy and final and her prejudices may get the best of her, but the Templar from her past makes her see reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taking Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mages are destroying the Hinterlands. They must be stopped.

Camp had been made near the top of a mountainside, nestled between dense forest and the rugged lowlands of the Hinterlands. Inquisition soldiers and scouts shifted uneasily from foot to foot, casting furtive glances to where their leaders huddled around a map, speaking tersely. In the distance, they could hear shouts and sometimes the scouts would jump when they heard an explosion echoing off the trees around them. The soldiers, some ex-Templars who followed Commander Cullen to this place, were restless. Their fingers curled and uncurled in their gauntlets. They gripped the hilts of their swords, waiting. These soldiers knew those sounds: mages running wild in the countryside. Their training ran too deep to not want to give chase, to bring in apostates, but the Commander had given them orders to stay put. They weren’t there to hunt mages, they were there to build watchtowers for Redcliff Farms. Though from the way Commander Cullen and the Herald argued, they weren’t quite sure if they would get to do even that.

***

The gaps through the trees offering glimpses of the burning Hinterlands drew Viktoriea’s attention away from the circular arguing before her. She knew that she should have provided more input, but worry stayed her tongue. The shouts that could be heard from the valley below made her stomach churn. There were mages down there, her people, setting the earth on fire. Her kind terrorized innocent journeymen and merchants and refugees, killing for sport, drunk on power. She was ashamed for them. Each time Cassandra or Scout Harding cut down one of Commander Cullen’s suggestions for getting out of camp with their soldiers, Viktoriea’s heart shriveled. Mages. The fault of the mages. Again.

They bickered in hushed tones about how to reach the places marked by Viktoriea on the map for the watchtowers to be erected. They tried to ignore the gaze of every soldier and scout behind them. They tried to ignore the distant screams. Viktoriea jumped at one, recalling the night in Kinloch when the Fade had ripped open to spew demons at the insistence of blood mages. She remembered similar screams and explosions; powerful men and women tapping into power that was not their own. She closed her eyes and thankled the Maker that, these mages at least, were not turning into abominations.

No, instead the rebel mages had closed off all roads. They cut down merchants and travelers and ran wild, spreading fires and stealing lyrium to boost their already miraculous power. The few people that survived the mages’ onslaught were holed up at the Crossroads, just barely protected by the Inquisition, begging the Herald of Andraste to deliver them.

Was this the way Andraste herself felt? Was she angered at the injustice in the face of the Imperium, but did she feel stretched too thin? Was she ever as wary as Viktoriea was to make any move? Andraste help her now! Viktoriea didn’t want to face the mages. She gave them a wide berth, fighting when necessary, insisting on running instead of killing. But perhaps she had let them go unchecked; the mages had taken the bridge to Redcliff Farms, the road to Redcliff and any other way out of the valley. Soon, they may even grow weary of burning farmland and seek to take the city. What then?

Another shriek echoed off the mountain and Viktoriea flinched. These mages… All her fault….

“Perhaps to the south?” Cassandra suggested, indicating a mountain pass around the last knows mage activity. “We’ve taken this route before to avoid the fighting.”

Harding shook her head. “I know. That’s why I used it the other day, but I lost two of my scouts that way and the one that came back reported ice traps everywhere. It’s too dangerous.”

“That far?” Commander Cullen sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. “How have they become so widespread? I thought the breakaway Templar faction had contained them….”

Cassandra and Harding’s gaze flicked to Viktoriea.

The Commander followed their movement and looked over Viktoriea suspiciously, waiting for an explanation Viktoriea didn’t feel compelled to give.

Beneath his eyes, Viktoriea scowled. She cursed herself for the blush she could feel rising in her cheeks. _“What?”_

“You can thank the Herald, Commander,” Cassandra huffed, making it clear that she did not approve of the way the problem was handled. “We raided and eliminated the breakaway Templar camp a few weeks ago.”

Viktoriea could practically _feel_ the Commander bristle. She felt the tongues of his lyrium-tinged fury licking at the edges of her mana but she stayed resolute. She held her ground as he advanced on her, voice low and threatening. Incredulous. “There are no more _Templars_ in the valley??”

“I was informed by Scout Harding that the Templars were a threat to the people at the Crossroads—”

“AND WHAT ABOUT THE MAGES!?”

“Battle trained Chantry soldiers should _know_ better than to attack people!”

“You would make us all out as _villains!_ WHAT OF THE MAGES?”

“Commander!” Cassandra barked sharply, moving between the two of them. Her hand hovered over the hilt of her sword as she stared with her piercing dark eyes at one and then the other. She challenged them. Ordered them to back down. Viktoriea sneered but looked away from them to stare again between the trees. She wondered which of them the good Seeker would deign to cut down first: the Commander of the Inquisition, a Templar, or the Herald of Andraste, a mage? She felt a bitter smile pull at her lips. “We did what we deemed necessary at the time,” Cassandra said. “We do not even know where these rebel mages have made their camp.”

“Oh? Truly?” the Commander spat. The sarcasm dripping from his words made Viktoriea shoot him a glare. He returned it whole heartedly, a snarl playing across his scarred lips. “Have you asked Viktoriea? She _loves_ rebel mages.”

Viktroiea bristled for a moment with anger, shaking her, sparks jumping from her fingertips. She ached to electrocute someone; for a moment considering just how well the Commander’s plate armor would conduct her lightning. Then like a sputtering candle, it was extinguished, and Viktoriea’s gaze dropped guiltily to the map. Her fingers drummed nervously against the worn edges of the table. He spoke true, _again_. Viktoriea knew _exactly_ where the rebel mages were based. They had contacted her one night while the others had slept. They were fascinated that the Herald of Andraste was one of their own. They wanted her support, her help, and the fool she was, she had gladly given it. It had always been that way, even in the Circle. To her, mages had always been a good cause. Was it because she shared their misery of being locked away, waiting to be killed either by a sword or by time, never knowing which was crueler? Or was it because she wanted to believe that Templars were their enemy even as she had known the contrary? She looked for reasons, she knew that about herself. It was why she pushed Cullen away; it was why she avoided rebel mages and rushed at rogue Templars. Any reason would do to kill a Templar. Why? Because it was easier to point fingers and lay blame on Templars than it was for a mage to take responsibility for their own destruction.

And now through her blind hatred, these fiends tore up the Hinterlands and murdered her people. All of it, the screams and the explosions, this time it was all _her_ fault….

She clenched her jaw when she met the Commander’s gaze again. Viktoriea started in a level voice, “I eliminated the greater threat. I had expected than once their _jailers_ were gone, the mages would desist—“”

“You were _wrong_ , Herald! And now, _these people suffer!”_ the Commander roared. He gestured towards the valley and as if to drive his point in further, cried echoed into their camp. Viktoriea flinched away from the obvious pleas for help, feeling both guilty and betrayed. _You should have known the mages would go back on their word_ , the Commander seemed to accuse with his condescending tone. _You should have known that her kind could never be trusted_. He stepped closer to her, leering over her until she felt as small as the day she had arrived at the Circle tower, a child in a cavernous hall. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t dare move before his wrath. She was too strong to be a coward now. “So, Herald,” he said carefully, venom polluting his voice, “my soldiers have _your_ watchtowers to build. Now will you eradicate these _murderers?_ Or shall I send more of our _good men_ to _die_ for your _stupidity?”_

“Commander,” Cassandra edged warily.

Viktoriea held up a hand to silence her. She stared defiantly into the Commander’s eyes, fierce blue to fiery tawny. He was close, even closer than he had been when they had last fought in the War Room. That seemed like so long ago to her now that the dull ache in her chest didn’t even bother to throb anymore. “Bull! Varric! Gear up!” she growled without ever breaking eye contact. In her stare she poured all her anger and her pride and even her guilt. Perhaps he saw it, perhaps he softened a little. “I go, Commander, because _I_ take responsibility for what _I’ve_ done and I _protect_ the people I’m charged to,” she sneered. “You could do to learn from that.” Spinning on her heel, she stomped away, ignoring the sudden hurt that flickered across his face.


	2. For Actions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When raiding the mages, Viktoriea found more than she bargained for and Cullen has to clean up the mess.

The stench in the air was nauseating. The scent of charred flesh hung heavily in the cave air and mingled with the distinct smell of singed hair. A wave of it hit her all at once when she entered the cramped cave behind Varric. It weakened her knees and made her gag. Viktoriea bit back bile and clung to focus.

Clung to chaos.

All around her in the damp darkness was shouting. Screaming. Spouts of fire roared and consumed victims, lighting up the glistening walls for the briefest instant. Bolts of electricity crackled and jolted from one heart to another, leaving a cauterized, gaping hole in each victim’s body. Magic thrummed all around her, the Fade churning with each spin of her staff. It was ripped open by her magic, honed by her practiced focus.

Her magic. All hers.

Others tried. Others failed.

The magic wove both ways. Ice traps formed halfheartedly on the ground before fizzling out, the caster falling prey to Viktoriea's own well-practiced spells or to Iron Bull's heavy axe or to Cassandra’s unyielding shield while Varric held them down with a bolt from Bianca. The mages stood no chance against them. They were too slow. They were too disorganized. They were too brash.

That's why they had to be cut down, wasn’t it?

The cave quieted suddenly with a final _fizzt_ of electricity from Viktoriea’s fingers. The small sounds pressed in on her ears in the thickening silence: panting, dripping water, the clink of plate armor.

The rebel apostates all lay dead in their camp. When once they slept peacefully, now their faces were slick with blood, frozen in screams. Minutes ago, they dreamed, now they drowned in their own fluids. These mages who never stood a chance....

In horror, she realized, _she_ did this to them.

 The Herald of Andraste, she sent by their savior, who once offered them kinship, she…she killed them.

Mouth hung wide. Eyes popped. Sobs lodged painfully in her throat. She trembled. Her staff clattered to the ground. Companions alerted, but she didn't see them. She saw _them_ : men and women severed from the Fade forever, murdered by their own sister in arms. She couldn't tear her gaze away from the death. Every corpse cried to her: _Why? Why? You betrayed us! You who knew better! You who felt the lash yourself! You who were as trapped as we! And you killed us! For them! You chose them over your own people!_

No words consoled her. No excuse was rational enough. There was to be no justification in this suffocating cave bearing the proof of her ultimate treachery.

Horrified with the carnage she wrought, she took an unsteady step back.

Viktoriea's stomach squeezed as she slipped on what she knew had to be blood. Instead of regaining her footing, her boot caught slick robes and she tumbled backwards.

 _Down_.

The shock of slamming into the cave's stone floor reverberated through her bones and she cried out in pain. Watering eyes fell upon the offending body, head turned towards her in its death throes.

Vacant green eyes. Tangles of matted, choppy red hair. _It used to be long_ , Viktoriea remembered with a sinking heart. A small pointed nose, a lovely chin, thin lips parted in a silent, eternal shriek.

And the sob caught in Viktoriea's throat suddenly dislodged itself into a gurgled semblance of a name half-forgotten.

She screamed.

***

Iron Bull had to carry her out over his shoulder.

He wrestled her as she clawed at his arms, his chest, trying desperately to get back to the cave where they had pried her off a pretty little woman. She shrieked and twisted and sobbed, but worst of all, she apologized. She cursed herself and the Maker and everyone in between. The word “sorry” was a like a chant on cracked lips as she wept. Bull did his best to ignore his boss, the mage consumed by a torrent of emotion he knew only too well. He let her scratch and writhe to her heart's content, his mouth set in a firm line. He didn't even flinch as she kicked him. He didn't even look as she snarled at him.

He couldn't. Not if he didn't want to share in her rage himself.

***

Cassandra asked questions.

The Herald was inconsolable and she had no idea why. They had done what hey came for. It was grim work, true, but it was finished. The mage just started throwing a fit at the end of it all and no one else seemed even a little curious. The men carried on as if nothing unusual was happening. Bull held her like she wasn't yelling in his ear. Varric frowned but never looked back at her. He simply marched forward, determined to leave the screams behind him.

Cassandra was confused. She asked questions.

***

 

Unable to ignore her any longer Varric hushed the Seeker.

He knew this kind of behavior well, if no one else did. He remembered that Anders sometimes would collapse for the same reason after a fight. Mage blood on his hands, he would cry. _Why was there mage blood on his hands?_ Hawke would have to stop and console him; a few words, a long embrace, rocking and whispering to his frenzied lover for hours, whatever it took. At least Anders had still been consolable. It seemed that Tingles was not about to take killing her kinsman lightly.

The Seeker pestered the poor girl. She asked prying questions over the shrieks. Her ignorance bothered him more than the mage's screams.

And he told her so.

Silence fell. Or as silent as they could be crossing the Hinterlands with a deranged, shouting woman.

***

No one spoke for the rest of their trek. No one dared.

She was still screaming when they arrived back at camp, echoing all the louder off the trees.

Officers stared wide-eyed as they tromped straight past the groups of scouts around the fire. Unabashed stares followed them to Viktoriea’s tent.

Cassandra told them off with stern glares. She barked biting orders over Viktoriea’s voice to no one in particular. "Get the Commander!"

"Yes, Seeker!"

"Can you restrain her, Iron Bull?"

"What do you think I've been doing?" the Qunari responded tightly through clenched teeth. He held her still enough to duck beneath her tent flaps.

***

Commander Cullen dug the stirrups sharply into his palomino's sides as he shouted to Knight Captain Rylen to take command. He pulled ahead of his soldiers, the horse's hooves kicking up dust as he urged it into a gallop. The scout who had come to meet him with the news, followed closely as they rushed into camp. The shrieks became clearer as he rode closer and he knew the scout had been correct. His mouth went suddenly dry.

Viktoriea was crazed, he realized with dread.

The Seeker paused in her pacing and called him over as he pulled tightly on the reins. He could read in the relief clear on her face that nothing that came next would be pleasant. Swallowing his worry past the lump in his throat, he dismounted.

Cullen didn't need to be told, he could already feel it. He rushed past Cassandra and tore through Viktoriea's tent flaps.

His heart plummeted as he took in the scene before his eyes. The screams had told him, but he hadn't been prepared. He hadn't expected Viktoriea's rolling and wild eyes or her voice hoarse with use, still calling stranger's names. He hadn't been expecting her to be fighting Iron Bull so fiercely, strong legs driving from the cot to try to throw her captor. She thrashed frantically, pulling and twisting and fighting. Magic shot from her fingertips in all directions, fizzing purposelessly through the air, never quite manifesting from the Fade. Despite the sputtering magic, the space was hot and the sparks made every hair on his neck stand on end. This was a dark chaos he had tried to forget so many times; one he had prayed he may never lay eyes on again: a mage gone mad.

The thrum of lyrium was weaker in him now. His last draft seemed so long ago, but the power still curled menacingly in his chest. Cullen pulled at his reserves, unleashed it, tendrils curling around his arms. It hummed around him, glowed, and he was reminded of the last time he Cleansed anyone in a dark and smoldering tower. Closing his eyes, Cullen steeled himself and pushed his magic forward. Like a moth to a flame, his energy sought out hers and bound to it tightly. Their wills clashed for the briefest moment. He grit his teeth with the effort of overpowering her, draining her. His lyrium-enhanced powers conquered hers, the way it always must, and her essence flowed through him suddenly and viciously. A river of magic rushing through him, it tried to tear him apart, but his body was conditioned for too many years for this kind of abuse. Her power whirled around him and he struggled to control it, lock it, keep it for himself. Cullen's eyes flew open and he drew a long, ragged breath. Teetering as every muscle in his body shook with the strain of housing so much magic without the aid of more lyrium, he became both exhausted and energized.

The silence was abrupt. On the cot, Viktoriea collapsed mid-scream, fallen unconscious and powerless.

Bull eased off the cot, but he didn't relax. The Qunari just nodded at Cullen as if he hadn't just been wrestling the Herald and then shouldered out the tent.

Cullen remained rooted to the spot, transfixed on the suddenly motionless body. He knew he had done something unthinkable to her and in the quiet, the dread found its way into his body. It turned him cold and miserable. Whatever he had yearned to do with Viktoriea in her tent, this was not it. With one stroke, he may have cut her off from him forever. He couldn't help hurting, feeling as if he had closed himself off from what he wanted most in the world. The finality of it made him waver. Ten years of suppressed, unconsummated feelings… He swallowed thickly. They would have to go with him to his grave now, he was certain. With his heart hammering painfully in his chest, he stumbled forward on shaky feet.

She looked vulnerable now, her lovely face eased only slightly, surrounded by a halo of tangled blonde waves. He sighed as he looked upon her wistfully. She was fitful, he noted, as if he caught her mid-nightmare but nothing could seem to wake her. Perhaps that was best.

Unable to stop himself, he gently brushed a lock of hair from her freckled cheek with fingers shaking with sheer energy. This was the first time he could really look at her since being reunited. Time hadn't tarnished his memory of her, she was still much the same. His breath quickened at the sight of her. Still beautiful, still powerful, still empathetic. He wondered just how much hadn't changed. Uncertain fingers hovered over her full, pink lips. His own tingled with the memory of their first and only brush, wistful now since being tortured with the memory by the demons that seized him. The scar that dragged through the left corner of her lips was new. He wondered how she got it. He wondered if she would ever tell him. Cullen longed to touch but it felt forbidden and wrong. _A templar taking advantage_ , he thought in revulsion. He withdrew his hand in disgust but couldn't tear his eyes away. The longer he looked, the more dawned on him.

She was pliant now, and he was stronger.

She was his charge and he was her ward.

She was a mage and he was a templar.

This was where they belonged.

There couldn't be another way.

Uttering something between a sigh and a moan, Cullen sank to his knees by her side. The weight of his thoughts crushed him. Iron bands squeezed his chest rendering him gasping for each new breath.

There could be no other way, he realized. No matter how much he hoped.

No matter how much he cared for her.


	3. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktoriea struggles with a broken heart and recalls the final moments of the Circle in Ostwick.

When Viktoriea's eyes fluttered open, her chest felt too heavy for her lungs to move. Her mind was sluggish and she was weak. So very weak. She was too feeble to move, her energy was gone. _What?_

Her head lolled heavily to one side with a raspy sigh and her gaze fell on him.

Viktoriea's eyes widened slightly at the gently snoring templar at her side. His head of blonde curls disheveled, supported in the crook of one arm, keeping close in case....

The events of before came rushing back—flashes of blood and screams and being brought back to camp and eyes, vacant accusing eyes—and then she knew.

She knew why Cullen was in her tent. She knew why she lay uselessly on her cot, unable to even lift her head.

Tired, dry eyes tried in vain to cry. Stripped. She'd been stripped of her power by the templar who had haunted her dreams. The girl in her had built him up as her protector and yet he had turned his Smite on her. So many different kinds of hurt flooded through her, some she knew she had no reason in the world to feel. Even after treating him horribly, after telling herself he was nothing to her, she still felt betrayed by this one act. Solid and heavy, like her body was now. She had never been drained before and she had seen it done on others only twice. Both times it was terrible to behold—looming, cold Templars descending; a crumpled mage dragged away; men drunk with new power stand threatening, glowering, daring others to give them any reason—but she had no idea just how _horrible_ it was to recieve! How _demeaning_ it was to be transformed into nothing but a mere rag doll where before she was akin to a god. How _humiliating_ it was to be at someone else's mercy, unable to fight, unable to even move—

A hoarse, choking cry escaped her thick lips and Cullen jerked awake, staring around her tent with bleary eyes. Confusion creased his brow for a moment.

With whatever strength she could find, she tried to glare at him. She tried to sneer. She tried anything, but all that came was another cracked sound out of her mouth.

His eyes widened for a moment, no doubt remembering what he was doing in Viktoriea's tent as well, and then he was scrambling for something on the ground. When he brought it up to where she could see, she recognized the vial of swirling blue liquid as a lyrium potion.

Hating that she needed the help, she let Cullen's hand slip gingerly beneath her head to lift it. She ignored his gentle touches as he held the glass to her lips carefully and she greedily drank. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt the curls of energy flick back into her veins, her body reenergized by cool tongues of lyrium. She focused on these feelings of revitalization and not on the gentle press of Cullen's thumb stroking back and forth soothingly through her hair. 

By the time the bottle was drained, she could move again. First, her toes and then she could stretch weary limbs. The ache reminded her of how much she had fought Iron Bull yesterday. She felt a stab of guilt, only mounting as her eyes roved the inside of the tent, a sorry sight. The tarp was blackened in places and she realized that she had had no control at all last night. How much magic had she spent? How much energy did she waste fighting her companions in her fervor? She closed her eyes and tried not to think of all the apologies she would have to make later. Perhaps some of the weariness, she thought, was not actually Cullen's doing, but her own. Everything had to be her fault, as she was sure Cullen was going to tell her any second now.

Their eyes met and they watched each other warily, waiting for the other's next move.

Too long. Too much eye contact. Viktoriea's heart fluttered in the most pleasantly unwelcome way. She tried to quench that feeling. She didn’t want to fawn.

She wanted to rage.

As more strength filtered through her, she pulled sharply away from Cullen's grasp and struggled to sit up. He made to help but pulled short when Viktoriea shot him a glare. His arms fell limp at his side, looking on silently instead.

Chest heaving with effort, she made it upright and finally turned her undivided attention on the Commander. Her eyes narrowed and her lip curled but he stared back, unfazed.

"I _hate_ that you're here," she spat at him suddenly.

"As do I, Viktoriea," he replied softly.

Viktoriea scowled. “You will address me as—”

" _Herald_ ," he corrected begrudgingly through his teeth. "It was not my first choice either, believe you me. You were attempting to singe everyone in sight. The Iron Bull couldn't even subdue you. We had _no_ other option—”

“There’s _always_ another option.” Viktoriea tried to keep her expression carefully arranged. How many times had she been told that in Ostwick as the mage outcry against the Chantry grew louder to ignore? She had always deigned for meeting the opposition with violence—fighting for freedom—but her emerald-eyed friend had always calmed her with her words. Simple words of wisdom she used in any and every situation: _There’s always another option_. Suddenly, Viktoriea crumpled, and she choked on a sob. All the events of the previous day crashed down around her in a torrent of emotion. She keened miserably and though she wanted nothing more than to get a hold of herself and be furious with Cullen, there was no controlling her grief now that it had entered her heart.

Cullen dropped his explanation and teetered for a moment on the edge of hesitation.

Viktoriea felt the cot shift and through her tears she saw Cullen sink next to her, an unsure hand hovering above her arm.

_What's wrong with you?_

Before he could decide to ask her, she threw herself onto his shoulder and cried into his fur collar. She would take whatever comfort she could find, even in Cullen. If she knew anything about grief—from being caught by the Fereldan Templars, to watching the Tower fall around her, to facing her freedom—it was that grief should never have been felt alone. Viktoriea buried her face in the fur the way she tried to bury her memories, but they washed over her forcefully, refusing their containment. Her world became all at once overwhelming, from the man she pushed away, to her new mantle, to the mages she had murdered. Each sob was a cry torn from her heart, loosened and furious, wracking her with pain she had tried so hard to steel away.

This time, there was no hesitation in him. Cullen’s arms wrapped around her and held her shaking body, rocking her as she cried. His hands soothed over her back and he tucked her beneath his chin, waiting. He was warm and patient, and with little else he could do, that was enough. Viktoriea knew she didn’t deserve to be treated like this, not with the way she treated him. His kindness punched new holes through her already battered chest.

“I-I should hab b-been there,” Viktoriea sobbed thickly.

“How could you have joined these rebels, Viktoriea?” Cullen reasoned gently. “You were in Ostwick. You were at the Conclave.”

_“Tori!”_

_“Tori, are you in here?”_

_Viktoriea’s head snapped up and locked eyes with Carlona. The wisp of a woman hung, terrified in the doorway, nervous green eyes darting back towards the corridor where the worst of the sounds came, her wild red hair loose from its usual bun. She heard it too. The clang of swords meeting staves, the bursts of magic and cries for help. The castle was in a panic. Mages and Templars alike shouted at the tops of their lungs, some for peace and order and others for blood._

_And still more, for their lives._

_“Get in here, Carlie!” Viktoriea hissed, tugging Carlona inside and closing the door to her chambers with a snap._

_The petite, angular woman began babbling immediately, fine hands wringing in terror. “T-they’re c-coming, Tori! I heard them d-d-down the h-hall. They’re h-hunting us! They’re sw-sweep-ping the Enchanters’ ch-chambers!”_

_Another explosion from down the hall made them both jump. Carlona uttered a small shriek and covered her face with her hands._

_Viktoriea looked frantically about her room and tried to think. She tried to shut out the noises and the terror that rose sickeningly in her throat. This was all too familiar for her. How was it that both her Circle homes had met their ends in bloodshed? Was she never to be safe?_

_“We have to g-get out of here!” Carlona all but shrieked. “T-the Templars are going to_ kill us _!”_

_Viktoriea closed her eyes, and took a deep, grounding breath. “No one is going to kill us,” she said in a more level voice than she thought she could muster. “That’s not their job. We aren’t fighting them.”_

_“It d-doesn’t matter! Our b-b-blood is damning enough! We have to f-f-fight—”_

_“No!” Viktoriea snapped. “There’s always another option, remember, Carlie?”_

_“Now…?” Carlona fixed her with a disbelieving look, her lips trembling. “_ Now _you choose to listen to me?”_

“I-I should neber hab been at the Conclabe…” Her heart wrenched. “I should hab been wif her!”

“ _Who_ , Viktoriea?”

_The sounds in the corridor were loud now. Banging from right next door, the shrill clang of fully plated Templars._

They are just checking for survivors _, she repeated to herself._ They’re just taking stock of those that aren’t fighting…

_Carlotta clung to Viktoriea’s robes. “We have to g-go!” she moaned. “Let’s r-run! While we still c-c-can!”_

_Viktoriea shook her head. If they ran, they looked like apostates. She had to believe, despite everything her life had told her thus far, that Templars were duty bound. The two of them were Circle mages, loyal to the Chantry, it was a Templar’s duty to_ protect _them. And she knew from her experience in Kinloch, that they were nothing, if not dutiful._

_The stomping of greaved feet paused at her door. Carlona whimpered and shook, but Viktoriea took her hand in her own, her heart hammering loudly in her ears._

_Duty bound. They were duty bound._

“M-my friend! In Ostwig! She was here!”

Cullen’s face creased with apprehension as it slowly dawned on him. “She…she was in that cave, wasn’t she?”

Viktoriea could only nod into the fur as renewed sobs escaped her raw throat. Her fists curled in his robes and she clutched Cullen to her as the pain in her chest grew crippling. She would have been beaten a thousand times, she would have let a sword run right through her, if only she would never have to feel this terrible ache of her heart. She felt it so keenly and so often as of late, that it seemed a wonder to her that she could still wake every morning.

_The heavy door of her room banged open and two fully armored Templars pushed their way into the cramped space. Viktoriea held her breath and gripped Carlona’s hand like a lifeline._ Who were they? _, she wondered. She knew most everyone in the castle. The Templars here had been kinder than those in Kinloch, more lax, a few even deigned to speak to their charges. It had been more welcome and cordial, so much so that if Viktoriea only looked skyward in the courtyard, she could almost forget that she was trapped. But these men in her room? She felt as if she knew neither of them. Their helmets were firmly in place, their eyes shrouded in shadow. They loomed, regarded her with heavy and intimidating stances from behind their raised shields, gripping their drawn swords. The air prickled with the clashing hums of both lyrium and magic and built a tangible disquiet as they warred against each other. Did she know these Templars? Had she exchanged jokes with these impassive men? Did they see past the magic in her blood? Had they ever?_

_“Malificar,” one snarled, crouching low behind his shield and raising his sword._

_“No!” Viktoriea pushed the whimpering Carlona behind her and raised her hands._

_“What?”_

_She glanced at the other Templar, remaining where he stood. She thought she knew that voice._

_“Kill them!”_

_“No, these are no Malificar.” The Starkhaven lilt. Yes, Viktoriea certainly knew that man. Relief spread through her chest._

_“We won’t take_ any _chances with these creatures! The Knight-Commander said—” The second Templar raised his sword and faster than Viktoriea could follow, he plunged it into the other Templar’s side. The blade pierced the mail easily and with a strangled gurgle, the first man crumpled to the ground._

_“Those were not our orders,” spat the Templar. Viktoriea was still wide eyed and speechless when he turned his attention on them. He yanked at his chinstrap and pulled the helmet off his head, shaking out his sweaty brown hair. Maker, she could have ran into his arms. Even with a full cheek bloodied and a green eye half swollen shut, the dashing Nevin was still a welcome sight. “Are the two of you, all right, Viktoriea?”_

“W-why was she here?” Viktoriea asked Cullen. She wished she could rip the Fade open and ask the Maker. Shake Him and ask Him why her best friend had been so far from home in Fereldan? Why had He stood by and let her kill Carlona? Why was she chosen to do all these terrible things?

“I don’t know, Viktoriea, but I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? _You’re sorry?!_ It was the war that started in _your_ Circle in Kirkwall that drove us to run away!” She pushed away from him as the words twisted out of her. She longed to place blame, even knowing there was none to be had. Carlona had left of her own accord. None of this was any real fault of Cullen’s. “We were supposed to stay together after the Circle tore itself apart… We were supposed to…” She shook her head. There was no use on wallowing in what they were _supposed to do_ , Viktoriea knew. She was _supposed_ to have found her father. She was _supposed_ to have stayed in Fereldan. She was _supposed_ to have lived out her life in Ostwick. Nothing in her life had _ever_ worked out the way it was _supposed_ to, why would she believe that it could start now?

“Did you lose her?” Cullen asked softly, ignoring the insult she had tried to sling at him. He had a habit of looking over such things so easily. He instantly forgave her for all the horrible things she had said to him since meeting him again, just because she was upset this one time. A new pain tugged at her already shattered heart. One that had nothing to do with her dead friend.

“She left. We escaped from the castle with the help of…” Viktoriea glanced back nervously at Cullen. _What would he think?_ He would mock her, try to push the Templars’ invitation on her again. If _one_ could be good… She let more tears fall down her cheeks, her hands clasped uselessly in her lap. Templars and mages. Why did it always boil down to Templars and Mages? “With the help of a Templar by the name of Nevin, and that of the Grand Enchanter. We took apprentices into the hills. Carlona left us soon after because Ser Nevin made her nervous…”

There was a fight. _That_ she remembered vividly. She recalled the aching pain then too. Carlona had always been the level headed one, the one that told her Templars weren’t so bad, and then she had turned. She called Viktoriea horrible names, spat at Nevin and stormed off to Maker only knew where.

Viktoriea knew where now.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t picture gentle, honest, quiet Carlona as a rebel mage setting fire to the Hinterlands. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t forget Carlona’s sightless green eyes gazing up at her from the blood slicked cavern floor.

She hugged herself, choking back more sobs and shaking her head. She was finished, she decided. As if crying could solve any of her problems now.

“You couldn’t have known, Viktoriea—”

“You were right, you know,” she interrupted. “E-earlier. The rebel mages had contacted me. They came into camp… but _she_ wasn’t with them… Why? Why wouldn’t Carlona come to see me?”

A Templar slut, Carlona had called her. A Chantry whore. Had she still believed those things when the rebels came to the Inquisition? Perhaps Carlona had seen her as beyond reason, already turned against her people. Carlona had died believing the worst of Viktoriea, a puppet to be used against the mages. That thought alone was almost enough to break Viktoriea’s control.

“Oftentimes, people are not who you believe them to be,” Cullen said. “When you think you know them, they show their truest colors. I thought I had known the Knight-Commander… but she had succumbed to paranoia and madness.”

Viktoriea shot him a weak glare, but was too exhausted to comment on how the very same could have been said of him. It wasn’t worth the fight. Already Viktoriea’s mind was racing into motion, piecing together frayed logic.

Time and time again, those dearest to her betrayed her and she was getting sick of it. The cycle of betrayals had to end somewhere and she had to be the one to take the first step.

She wiped the last of her tears from her eyes and looked back at the Commander, resolute in her next words. “Have your men build your watchtowers, Commander, I will make for Haven. Follow as swiftly as you can. After that, I shall take a team to the mages of Redcliffe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been such a long time since I edited, but the writer's block is finally broken!!  
> *rejoices for days*


	4. and Revisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktoriea finds herself back at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and is reminded of the series of events that led her here.

_What was she doing up here?_

Viktoriea asked, but wasn’t sure _she_ even knew what had let her all the way up the mountain. What kind of masochism had possessed her heart and made her make this blighted trek? She wasn’t sure. All she was sure of was that after the brief fight with her advisors in Haven about the mages, she had to get _out_. Out of the Chantry, out of Haven, out of sight. So she had tugged her scarf tighter around her neck and let her feet take her where they pleased.

_So if anyone was to blame for this, it was my feet_ , she tried to joke to herself, but the thought settled on a sickened heart. There was nothing funny about where she had ended up.

Somehow her feet had taken her straight to the ruined Temple of Sacred Ashes.

This had become the place of her nightmares, so often visited with terror that she had never dared come back in person. It was…too much. She stopped short of the half-obliterated entrance nestled into the mountainside. Snow swirled around her long coat, whipped her hair, as she stood motionless, staring. Where once it had been a towering and grand masterwork of stone with freshly polished inlays of gold, it was now mostly rubble with cooled prisms of pointed rock reaching up into the fractured sky. The grand arch opened to the heavens, the mountainside surrounding the double doors still charred and reshaped from the Conclave explosion.

Viktoriea took a deep shaking breath, memories from her most recent past flooding her mind. She couldn’t decide if it was a welcome relief from reliving Kinloch, or a crueler reminder from the Maker himself.

_“Are you ready to go in, lass?”_

Viktoriea looked to her left and could have sworn on anything that Ser Nevin stood beside her still. His green eyes focused but concerned. He had become her protector, ready to stand beside her at whatever the cost. Ser Nevin had _insisted_ he accompany her on her journey to the Temple of Sacred Ashes and she had been too anxious to deny him.  If only she had been stronger then. If only she had been more stubborn. Viktoriea choked, tears springing into her eyes.

_“We can still leave if you want. Just because the First Enchanter asked you to come, doesn’t mean you actually have to go in.” He paused, searching her face for an indication either way. “We could go back. Pick up the children and just leave…like we discussed.”_

_She shook her head. “This is my duty, Nevin. If my noble blood can be good for anything, let it be to make peace. If I can sway them with my lineage, then I will. Then you and I… we won’t have to run anymore.”_

_Nevin laughed bitterly and raised her fingers to his lips. “Is that what you think? Because, from the way my brothers-in-arms are giving me the stink-eye, I don’t think it will be_ that _easy…”_

“Well. We will just have to find out then, won’t we?” Viktoriea whispered into the wind that whipped at her coat. The air stung against the tears rolling down her cheeks and she wondered again why she had wandered back to this terrible place.

_“Sure. Just be careful, okay? I’ll be waiting for you out here, if you need me…”_

Did she dare to go inside with all the ghosts?

“It’s about time you came, lass.”

The voice shattered her reverie. She whirled around and raised her hands, charging with sparks.

“Woah!” Ser Nevin stopped dead in his tracks, raising his hands, but he laughed. “On edge, are we, Viktoriea?”

Confusion knit across Viktoriea’s brow but she lowered her hands, the lightning snuffing out immediately.

“Or is it “Herald” these days?” he asked genially, scaling the last of the snow choked pass to her side.

“Nevin, what…?”

“It’s been too long, lass.” He smiled, bright and dazzling, and nearly knocked the wind out of Viktoriea’s lungs.

She nodded mutely, taking in as much of him with her scattered mind as she dared. He was windblown, his chiseled cheeks tinged pink and his dark wavy hair hung in his eyes, grown out since they had left the Circle together. Viktoriea couldn’t calm her heart long enough to understand. She wanted to throw her arms around him, kiss him, curse him, cast him away from her; _where_ had he gone? How was this possible? She had so many questions for him, she had so much to talk about.

“W-Where—”

“I’ve been waiting for you to come my way, lass.”

Viktoriea was so overcome by emotion, she hardly dared to breathe. Her vision swam with new tears. “I-I’m so happy to see you!”

He nodded, a half smile tugging at his lips. “I can see that… The crying, you know, it’s a dead giveaway.” He winked at her. Viktoriea couldn’t stop one shaky laugh from escaping her.

“Oh, Nevin,” Viktoriea half-sobbed, running trembling fingers though her hair. “It feels like all I’ve done lately is cry.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“That’s who I’ve become. Because of this!” she cried, gesturing up to the swirling Rift. The mark on her hand crackled to life.

The two of them turned their eyes skyward and Viktoriea lost herself to fear. Too much was relying on her alone. The weight of it crushed her shoulders. Even Andraste had an army at her back—she had the Maker himself for crying out loud—and Viktoriea had nothing. She was supposed to become a hero, a Herald, but she no longer knew if she could carry on with her Lady’s work. Maybe she had been chosen, but she could have only been chosen in error. How could _she,_ a distrusted mage, ever deliver the world from a calamity like this, where Fade Rifts tore the sky across Thedas? She was one woman, alone, and she was out of options. She _had_ to repair the sky. She _had_ to find a way. Otherwise she will have plunged the world into a chaos that she couldn’t fix. Then they would all turn on her again. A liar. A mage.

“Listen, whatever this is, you’ve got to know it’s not your fault—”

“No? Then why am I the only one marked by it? I don’t even know what happened in there, Nevin, so how could you?”

Nevin threw his head back and laughed. The sound was deep and sincere, as carefree and light as always. She wondered in awe, how he could manage a laugh like that, even at a time like this. Her chest tightened painfully. “I hate to break it to you, lass, but as tough and merciless as you like to think you are… you couldn’t hurt a nug.”

“Y-you don’t know me anymore!” Viktoriea shot back, her voice breaking. “I’ve killed a lot of people…”

“To _save_ how many more, Viktoriea?” She gazed searchingly into his face and wanted to be comforted by the earnestness in his eyes. “Perhaps I’m wrong, but that doesn’t sound like a good motive for a cold-blooded, Rift-opening murderer to me.”

She shook her head. He wouldn’t understand. Nevin would stubbornly refuse to see Viktoriea as anything less than wonderful. That was his way. He talked her up so much sometimes that she would almost believe him, _if_ she didn’t know he was head over heels for her. A lump formed in her throat. And where had that admiration led him?

Viktoriea turned her gaze upward again, her hand reaching up to clutch at her throat. Why had she come all this way if all she was only going to do was stare?

Nevin stepped ahead of her, his plate armor glinting in the sunlight, and held out his hand, a small but grim smile on his lips. “Shall we?”

Ignoring his outstretched fingers, Viktoriea took a deep breath and forced herself to walk inside the grand hall. It lay still, no ghosts. Snow settled over the rubble of the fallen ceiling. It blanketed everything, leaving the world fresh and gleaming. The quiet almost made Viktoriea believe that nothing had happened in this place at all.

Nevin blew out a long, low whistle. “That explosion _really_ did a number on this place, didn’t it?”

“ _Don’t_ remind me.”

Viktoriea pushed forward through the splintered halls of the temple, knowing the way almost as surely as she had found her way up the mountain. There were no sounds but the soft crunching of her feet in the fresh snow. She stared at everything with wide eyes as she passed, hardly daring to believe how _peaceful_ the Temple looked now. Only in a few places, the throbbing tips of red lyrium crystals poked out of the snow. These were all that were left to accuse Viktoriea of causing the explosion that killed so many. The twisted, charred corpses that she remembered in her nightmares had appeared to have thankfully crumbled.

She reached the open chamber with shards of mountain splayed upward in every direction, remembering all the skeletal bodies and the smoke, replaced, blanketed with an expanse of pure white. Viktoriea wavered in the mouth of the only remaining hall, her courage quickly fleeing her. If she took a step, it could be over one of her victims, and the idea of stepping on the burnt skulls of the dead made her sick to her stomach. Instead, she leaned heavily against the ancient blackened stones and her eyes searched the glittering snow for some vindication that it had been _she_ who had destroyed the Temple.

The fledgling Inquisition had had neither the time nor the resources to bury all the dead of the Conclave. They all remained here—somewhere—sharing the same final resting place as Andraste. Chantry clerics, Templars and Mages alike, all lay with their Lady. This place served better than anything to remind Viktoriea that in death, what a person was born or what they became didn’t matter in the slightest. In death, they were all bodies, left where they fell, covered in snow.

“How many people did we know, Viktoriea?” Nevin asked, finally breaking their silence. He settled himself against the wall opposite her and watched her with mild curiosity.

She shot a quick glare at Nevin and regretted it. As her heart plummeted painfully, she looked away again. “ _Too many_ ,” Viktoriea replied tersely, choking on a small sob.

Viktoriea tried her best to ignore his searching gaze. His presence unsettled her. She still couldn’t decide if he was a godsend or…something else… Her throat constricted painfully at the thought so she distracted herself with the Rift in the sky. There was no shelter from it up here. It loomed and waited as if at any moment it could spew more demons. She shivered violently and clutched her coat around her. The bitter cold bit more mercilessly, piercing a hole straight through her chest.

Nevin glanced over at her apologetically and ran his fingers through his hair. His nervous tic. Viktoriea had known it too well. The lovely Templar running his fingers through his hair when she entered the Commons, standing a little straighter. He ran his fingers through his hair when she spoke to him for the first time. And again when they tried to decide where to run together. “Yes. I suppose that was the wrong question to ask, wasn’t it, lass? It was insensitive of me.” He pushed off the wall and fixed her with an alarmingly piercing emerald stare. “The better question, _is_ , why are _you_ here?”

Her breath caught. She glanced at him nervously, her fingers clutching so tightly on her scarf, her knuckles ached. How could he expect an answer if she didn’t even know herself? That was the question she had continually asked. What was she looking for? Relief? Guilt? She wasn’t sure. The quarrel in the War Room had rattled her. Cullen’s warnings that pouring in more magic could make it worse left her with doubts. Cassandra seemed to believe it was the right thing to do. However Leliana and Josephine lent neither Cullen nor Cassandra any confidence, leaving the decision—once again—all on Viktoriea. When she was in the Hinterlands she had felt certain their next move lay in Redcliffe…but now…? She pursed her lips and glanced at Nevin again. He waited patiently for her response, but she didn’t think she really had one. “Do you _remember_ everything?” she asked instead.

“Of course.”

“When the Circle rioted,” Viktoriea mused quietly, “there was so much chaos…”

She closed her eyes to the blinding white and struggled to remember which memories were Kinloch and which were Ostwick. It was difficult. The terrified screams were much the same.

_Viktoriea waited with Carlona and tried to calm her as best as she could. She turned her friend away from the Templar dead on the floor and tried to reassure her that they were both fine and safe. No one would hurt them anymore. She repeated the words like a mantra, unsure of who she was really trying to fool By the time Ser Nevin returned Viktoriea had at least calmed Carlona’s loud sobs._

_“It is clear,” he panted, pulling his helmet off again as he entered the room. “But there is no guarantee we won’t run into a fight.” He looked over Carlona dubiously and for a moment, Viktoriea bristled. If he even dared to suggest that they leave her behind, she didn’t care that he had just saved their lives, she would shoot him full of lighting faster than he could pray to the Maker. But Ser Nevin bent to wrestle the Templar shield from the corpse on the ground and held it out to Carlona. He helped her shaking arm into the leather straps with gentle fingers and when she tested its weight uncertainly, he cupped her pale face in his gauntleted hands. “You **will** make it, even if I have to lay my life down for you. That is my duty. I am sworn to you.” Her wide eyes locked on his disbelievingly but he didn’t let go until she finally nodded. Satisfied, Ser Nevin turned to Viktoriea and added, “ **Both** **of** **you**.”_

_Leaving the Enchanter’s Quarters with Nevin leading the way had been easy. The fighting raged in the lower levels of the castle, the shrieks and explosions muffled by the stone beneath their feet. Most everyone here had fled, gone and fought, or died. Viktoriea could barely hear anything over her hammering heart and the oddly comforting clank of Nevin’s armor. And though her eyes darted to every shadow at first, she was starting to believe that they could make their escape with no opposition. She was even starting to relax._

_They made it to the second level before they encountered their first combat._

_Viktoriea heard the crackle before she saw it, and she shouted her warning to Nevin before she barreled into him and threw them both to the floor as a fireball exploded where they had stood moments before. Nevin rolled her underneath him to shield her but Viktoriea could still feel the blistering heat of the spell on her skin followed by the lingering smell of singed hair._

_He recovered faster than she could, springing to his feet and dragging her with him. Viktoriea barely had time to catch Carlona’s hand in hers as they were both pulled from the room behind Nevin’s raised shield. She just caught the furious bellow of the mage who had missed his target before they had raced from the room and left him to find a new victim. Viktoriea almost wanted to say that sounded like Enchanter Haldrik but she quickly shook the thought from her mind. Better to leave their attackers all faceless. Better to believe she knew none of them than to admit that they had become monsters._

_It had seemed that the closer they drew to the sounds of battle, the more Nevin threw caution to the wind. In her desperation, Viktoriea couldn’t have agreed more. If only they could get out. If they could race the spells and duck beneath the swords in a mad dash for the door, then maybe, just maybe, they could make it to safety…_

_As the trio tore into the entry hall, they were bombarded with the true horror of the Mage and Templar war. The stench of burned flesh mingled with the tang of blood and made them gag. Magic and lyrium charged the air like electricity. Bodies littered the floor, the dead and the groaning lay forgotten where they fell, abandoned in the fervor for blood. Furniture had been flung aside for makeshift cover and skirmishes were abundant around the hall. There were no victors, Viktoriea realized. Here Templars slaughtered a mage and there mages swarmed a knight. It was a hell that Viktoriea had thought she had already seen all those years ago. She had been wrong. This was a new and truer nightmare._

_Nevin dragged them both to the nearest upturned chest and they all struggled to hunch low behind it. For all the good it did, it seemed that the battle-locked mages and Templars didn’t even notice their addition. He and Viktoriea raised their gazes just over the edge of the chest and then shared a worried look. The door to the courtyard waited on the other side of the hall, through all the fighting._

_The three of them couldn’t possibly fight all of them, and even running, and even believing that they could dodge fast enough through the fray, it was impossible to think they could all make it together. They would be separated, forced to fend off attackers, and while Nevin at least, had the battle training, Viktoriea and Carlona knew only theory at best. Don’t hit your allies. That was all Viktoriea could discern about real combat. Never, not even in Kinloch, had she ever used her magic in a fight. No, this was impossible, and they would all die there for a cause they didn’t believe in._

_“Psst!” Viktoriea’s head whipped around so fast, she might’ve given herself whiplash. She stared open-mouthed at First Enchanter Petra crouched in a nearby doorway. The worn older woman was badly scratched, with an ugly black bruise forming on her swollen cheek. She glanced towards the fray with her watery gray eyes and looked, for a moment, utterly exhausted, but when she met Viktoriea’s eyes again, it was gone. “Come, come!” she hissed, beckoning madly._

_“Let’s go,” Viktoriea urged Nevin and Carlona. She checked the fighting, and made a mad dash for the First Enchanter’s open door._

_Viktoriea was dismayed to find it little more than a deep storage room, with barely any space left inside with all its occupants. She was greeted by the tear stained, fear stricken faces of a dozen young apprentices, all shaking and clutching onto one another. As she looked over them, her lip trembled. There were…so few…_

_The First Enchanter eased the door closed quietly behind them._

_“Enchanter Trevelyan! Thank the Maker you made it.” She spun to face the new deep voice, and Knight-Commander Avod, grim and weary as always, greeted her with an embrace. If she hadn’t been saved by the Wardens of Ferelden from Anullment in the middle of the Blight, she would believe that **this** was the strangest thing that had ever happened to her. He held her out at arm’s length and regarded her, nodding. “Good work, Ser Nevin,” the sharp man told her escort, who nodded in turn. She looked over his armored shoulder quizzically at two more Templar guards squeezed uncomfortably into the room, her head completely spinning now. It seemed that in the last minute she had utterly lost track of reality. “We need to get these apprentices out, Trevelyan, and both Ser Nevin and Petra informed me **you** were the best suited to do that.” She looked disbelievingly between the brusque salt-and-pepper haired man, the First Enchanter, and Nevin. This had to have been the Fade, she decided. **Never** would they all be here together. **Willingly**._

_Carlona whimpered from behind her._

_Viktoriea had to agree with her friend. “W-why me?” she stammered. “First Enchanter?”_

_Petra shook her head. “I am too old, Viktoriea. These apprentices must be taken over the mountain to the city of Ostwick and I do not have that journey in my body any longer.”_

_Knight-Commander Avod nodded his assent. “So long as the castle is not under control, Petra and I must stay.”_

_“But—”_

_“There isn’t time, Viktoriea,” Nevin insisted in a hushed voice. “You have to run before the fighting escapes the castle and overtakes you in the mountains.”_

_“Indeed. Our Circle was lucky enough to have stayed out of the war for so long. The fighting here will only spread, that is inevitable,” Avod said gravely, ever the ray of sunshine he always was. “All we can pray for, is for at least some innocents to be spared.” He eyed the cowering apprentices and shook his head. “Believe what you may of me, Trevelyan, but I do not take pleasure in slaughter.”_

_She shook her head slightly, disbelieving._

_“We already have a plan but we needed more mages,” Petra cut in. “You and Carlona will do. The Templars will carve a path through the fighting, and the three of us will have to cast the mightiest barriers we can muster around the apprentices as we move, you understand?” Viktoriea’s mind raced a hundred different directions and confusion kept her slack jawed. This was all happening so fast… Petra’s eyes bored into hers for a moment and she snapped her fingers in front of Viktroiea’s nose impatiently. “ **Do you understand?** ”_

_“I-I- **yes**!”_

_“Then we make our move,” Avod said tersely. He motioned for his Templars to stand on either side of the door. “Ready your shields!”_

_“Come, children…” Petra ushered quietly, motioning for the apprentices to stand._

_“T-Tory, what…?” Carlona squeezed Viktoriea’s arm and leaned in close to her ear. “ **What** are we doing? We can’t take **all** of them. We’re never going to make it! It’s every mage for themselves.”_

_Viktoriea stared at her friend as if seeing her for the first time, and time seemed to slow around her. She looked at each of the tired, frightened faces in turn and it dawned on her. They were **all** here, and they were all **still** **alive**. They **needed** each other, otherwise, there could never be **any** hope. There **had** to be enough **mages** to protect the apprentices that couldn’t protect themselves. There **had** to be **Templars** to shield the mages. Carlona was wrong. **On their own** they would never make it out of this hell. Their **only** chance, if they were to even have a chance, lay in fighting together. And at this moment, Viktoriea felt that she grasped at the way the Order and the Circle had always meant to have been._

_She pried Carlona’s hand off her arm and squeezed it. “You are the best mage I know at Creation spells,” she told her soothingly albeit a little chilled. “So long as **you** cast, we **will** make it.”_

_She left her friend to help Petra corral apprentices with gentle words. Heavy determination settled in her stomach. No more of them were going to die, not if she could help it. Her eyes lifted to watch the Knight-Commander’s back as he relayed his orders in hushed tones, shifted to Ser Nevin, listening intently at his side. If he was nervous at all, if he felt any discomfort at the thought that he may never leave this castle, he didn't show it. His face was set, his shoulders thrown back, a proud and dutiful Templar. She remembered his words to Carlona, swearing himself to them both in her room. She had never encountered a Templar like **that** , who stepped in to save mages, who laid down his life for them, who would volunteer himself for what could only be called suicide. Well, no one besides..._

_She shook her last fleeting memories of Ser Cullen from her mind and focused on her more impending doom. Whatever a Templar was sworn to be, she decided, the valor that was supposed to accompany the title was rare. Or at least, she had **thought** so._

_Avod turned from his knights and regarded the mages. Any apprehension he must have felt was well hidden. Viktoriea wished she could be so confident in the face of death. "Are you ready, Petra?"_

_She nodded once._

_Viktoriea pulled at the Fade and felt her fingers come alive with magic. It tingled and sang within her blood in a way nothing else did. She calmed instantly, the dread and nervousness replaced with a cold sense of her duty and a belief that they would all survive._

_“Follow closely behind us,” Avod told them. “We will Cleanse ahead as we push, do **not** get caught in it! If we are distracted by the melee or are struck down, press forward to the courtyard as fast as you can. The First Enchanter will open the portcullis. You will have only a few minutes. The gate must be shut again to keep in the other mages. **Do** **you** **understand**?”_

_Viktoriea nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and took her place at the rear of the apprentices. Carlona glanced her way from the other side and Viktoriea tried her best to give her a reassuring smile._

_“Then let’s get this over with.” The Knight-Commander drew his sword from his scabbard and pushed the door open._


	5. Renewed Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her recent memories of the Mage-Templar War haunt Viktoriea Trevelyan at the Temple and spurns her to take unexpected action against the Rift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Disclaimer: The quoted Chant of Light is not mine, it is Bioware's. <3

_At Kinloch, the short skirmishes had been confusing. Blood mages had taken hold of the tower by surprise and then demons ran rampant through the halls, cutting down both mages and Templars alike. By the time anyone could tell what had transpired, the tower was taken. A few stood against them and fell, but unable to rally the full might of his command, Knight-Commander Greagoir had pulled the Templars he could out and sealed the door behind him with everyone locked inside left to their fate. Viktoriea had thought him cowardly back then, leaving everyone to die in the tower instead of fighting to the last man, but as she watched the group of four Templars lead the push through the entrance hall, she wondered if Greagoir hadn’t been simply cowardly all those years ago. His Templars had been **scared** out of their wits, his Templars had been **taken by surprise** ; Knight-Commander Avod’s Templars were **fully prepared** , and they were **merciless**. Avod rallied them, calling upon the loyal men still fighting in the room ahead and Viktoriea was shocked to watch them break away from their personal battles and comply. They formed a tight shield wall of more than half a dozen and pressed forward, the three mages in tow casting barrier upon barrier over them all._

_The battle became a blur to her. More mages had arrived within minutes, whether to assist the bloodshed or to escape, Viktoriea never knew. Avod’s knights fought off the crazed Templars who could have been their friends, bashing with their shields and slicing with their swords without hesitation. Viktoriea felt the unpleasant churn of lyrium induced magic, and watched white mist like a rolling wave wash before their line. Mages halted mid-cast, finding themselves suddenly useless and fled before their might. What Viktoriea had thought was a far-fetched plan, was suddenly coming to complete fruition._

_They reached the entrance and turned as a unit, shielding the mages and the apprentices as they all pressed against the great doors. Normally, it took four Templars to open, but necessity stirred the children into motion. They all grunted pitifully against the heavy iron doors. Viktoriea pushed with all her might, though tired from her casting. They grated shrilly against the stones, just beginning to budge._

_And then she heard a screech that chilled her to her bones. A sound that she could have gone an eternity never hearing again—_

_“Abomination!” bellowed Avod. “Smites!”_

_Viktoriea looked over her shoulder at the hulking, twisted creature that may have been one of her friends minutes ago. She felt the fear shoot through her, freezing her in place. **It was happening again!**_

_“Push, everyone!” shouted Petra._

_The Abomination roared in its gravelly voice and charged forward, swinging low with its arms. The Smites the knights could muster didn’t slow it down in the slightest. It broke their line easily, casting the men aside as though they were nothing more than paper dolls. Two recovered immediately. The pair met the creature with their raised shields but the Abomination was a powerful monster. Its hands came alive with mage fire and it reared up to burn the men that dared to stand between it and its freedom._

_Viktoriea couldn’t tell if it was adrenaline or if it was the fact that Nevin was in the direct line of its fire, but she threw herself from the door, her body coming alive with sparks. The lightning danced in cool arcs around her as she charged the beast, screaming as best as she could past her fear-tightened throat. It wheeled on her, raising its mangled arms. Baring her teeth with the effort, she threw her arms forward, her magic following tightly. The creature seized as she threw her arcs with deadly precision, dancing over the mutilated flesh, carving cauterized holes through the twisted mage._

_The Templars, regaining their feet, attacked the stunned monster from behind, taking care to avoid the lighting themselves. They slashed at its legs and as it went down screaming, they plunged their swords deep into the Abomination’s flesh._

_Viktoriea slumped, dropping her arms, her heart pounding violently in her chest. Her shaking hand pushed the hair from her sweaty brow. **That had been too close.** If the mages here turned to blood magic… then the castle was lost no matter what they did. She had already seen one Circle fall that way, and she doubted there were any Wardens here to save them this time._

_“Knight-Commander—”_

_“I’m fine,” he snapped at his men. “Get that door **open**!”_

_“Viktoriea!”_

_Nevin raced forward and Viktoriea sagged into his outstretched arms, shaking from the effort. He murmured soft words to her but when she looked up to answer, her mind was wiped blank by his close proximity, noses nearly touching. Her heart skipped a beat._

_“Trevelyan!” called Avod, stealing her attention away from Nevin’s near kiss. “The way forward is clear. I trust you know what to do from here.” He limped towards them, his hand pressed tightly into his side. Viktoriea could just see the slow seep of crimson through his mail._

_“You’re hurt, Knight-Commander!” she gasped. “Here, let Carlie help you—”_

_He waved her away. “There’s no time. Take the apprentices and go. I must stay with my Templars and see that nothing—be it mage or, Maker help us, **abomination** —gets through this door.” Avod’s piercing gaze turned on Nevin, his eyes flickering to the steel-clad arms that were still around her waist. She blushed brightly. “I see now why you were so **adamant** , Knight-Templar Nevin,” Avod said carefully with a slow nod of his head. “Trevelyan is a fine fighter.” He turned away from them abruptly to survey the carnage. He glanced over his remaining faithful Templars as they spread out to check for more wounded, before adding, “She could still use a Templar escort through the mountains, I think. See that she gets where she’s going. That’s an order.”_

_Nevin glanced down at Viktoriea, the shock on his face mirroring what she felt. She expected a reprimand, she expected an order for him to stay behind fighting until his death. This had to be a dream, or a nightmare. It couldn’t possibly be anything else to Viktoriea. But her hand grasped in Nevin’s, tugging her towards the door—that was **real** wasn’t it?_

_As they ushered all the children out through the doors, Viktoriea cast one last, perplexed glance over her shoulder at the handful of wounded Templars who were supposed to hold the line._

**_Blessed are those that stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter._ **

_Avod nodded to her. Maker watch over you. She saw the words on his lips but did not hear them._

**_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._ **

Nevin chuckled darkly at her, bringing her back to the stinging cold of the Temple. His head tilted to the side as he regarded her. ““Chaos” puts it lightly. Yet you still managed to save so many innocent lives…Or do you still think that’s an act of a murderer?”

“ _I_ didn’t!” Viktoriea shot back, shaking her head. “We both know that _I_ was not the hero you make me out to be that day. _Why_ did _you_ help me? Why did the _Knight-Commander_ help me?” Frustrated tears spilled over her cheeks. These men, they made _no_ sense to her! “ _What_ did you have to gain?” She looked up at him with wondering, almost accusing eyes. Her life had taken too many turns too fast for her to think properly. Her alignment in the War was an issue that should have been easy. Her blood should have made it black and white, and yet her life had muddled the decision into utter confusion.

“ _Gain_ , Viktoriea?” Nevin barked, pushing off the wall towards her. “Templars don’t work for _gain_. Or do you know nothing of us? We swear an oath to protect the world, lass. We swear an oath to protect mages. To stop demons. _That_ is our _purpose_. It’s a purpose that so many of the Order have lost sight of. They wander, aimlessly, searching for a reason to be. But the Knight-Commander? _Me?_ …I _found_ my purpose. And you know this.”

_“Are you sure we’ll be safe here?” Viktoriea asked Nevin quietly, reaching his lookout position in the mouth of the cave. She glanced back into the gloom where Carlona and the older children picked through the emergency packs that First Enchanter Petra had given them. Viktoriea had been surprised that the castle’s fall had been anticipated so thoroughly by Petra and Avod when she herself had believed they could remained untouched. **Foolish of her** , she admonished now. If she had been **half** as prepared as the two of them… Viktoriea closed her eyes and tried not to imagine her mentor and her protector falling in a swarm of malificar._

_“Of course not, but it’s the best we’ll manage.” He nodded at the mages distributing blankets and rations. “They’ve been through too much, and we will not be able to make them go any farther. They’re terrified and exhausted, just like we are. Worse, maybe, the wee things.” He ran his fingers through his hair as he looked over Viktoriea. She watched him plaintively, torn between thanking him profusely and throwing her arms around him, if only for the comfort. “We don’t have enough, you know,” he said quietly. “For all of us. Split the rations amongst yourselves, okay? Don’t worry about me.”_

_“How selfless of you,” she muttered._

_He fixed her with a wry smile. “Your adoration for me is duly noted, Viktoriea, but it’s not out of selflessness. I won’t be here.”_

_An unwelcome spike of panic shot through her. “What? Why? Where are you going?”_

_Nevin motioned for her to keep her voice down and Viktoriea glanced guiltily back at the children. She knew the three of them were the ones in charge, the ones the children looked to, and panicking would only hurt the traumatized apprentices. He motioned with his head to the mouth of the cave._

_She followed him, ready to hound him again as soon as they were clear but he began talking immediately. “It will take more days than we have rations for to get to the city. As a group we are slow going. I will go on ahead, alone, and come back to meet you with enough supplies to see us there.”_

_Viktoriea sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes. She couldn’t tell why her stomach churned so sickeningly, or why she really wanted to beg him to stay. Maybe she was just paranoid after their assault through the castle. Maybe she didn’t think she could protect all the apprentices on her own should rogue Templars or mages discover them. Maybe she wasn’t convinced that Nevin would come back. She was so conflicted with her terror, her unease, her guilt, her exhaustion, that she was lulled into silence, unable to voice any concerns or murmur any comforts. And somehow, that made it feel worse._

_“I’ll be quick,” Nevin said quietly, reaching for her. When he pulled her gently into his arms, she made no move to stop him. “Alone, I’ll be faster over the pass. You know this.”_

_She didn’t look at him. She didn’t nod. She didn’t move. Viktoriea just stared unblinkingly at the stamped black insignia in front of her, the flaming sword across his chest plate._

_“Viktoriea…” The steel gauntlets touched her chin gingerly, the cold sharp against her blazing skin, and raised her face to his. Their lips brushed softly, searching and timid at first. Until Viktoriea’s hand snaked up to his cheek to press him into a deeper kiss. He broke their touch with a ragged sigh and smiled tentatively. “You have **no idea** how long I’ve wanted that…”_

_She laughed breathlessly with him, at the sheer absurdity of it. Their world falling apart around them and they worried about kisses._

_“I will come back. And I…hope you will be waiting for me, when I do.”_

_“Better hurry before another strapping young man comes along and beats you to it,” she joked weakly. Nevin just shook his head and squeezed her waist._

_“You jest, but with every other crazy thing that’s happening, I wouldn’t exactly be surprised.” His expression turned serious and he pressed another small, lingering kiss upon her lips. “I know what I have to do. Take care, Viktoriea. Stay safe.”_

 “Give them a purpose, Viktoriea. Like you gave me,” Nevin said firmly, slicing through her reverie.

“A purpose…. _like yours?”_ she laughed bitterly. She couldn’t bear to look upon Nevin’s troubled face any longer. Instead, she spat her tear-choked response at the glittering floor. “Like following me to their _deaths?”_

Viktoriea heard Nevin’s strangled sigh and squeezed her eyes shut. A thick sob roiled in her throat and she choked on it, letting her guilt-ridden tears fall against her hand.

“You’re _dead, aren’t you_ … _?”_

Nevin didn’t need to answer. His silence could have screamed the truth. The unease she felt since she stumbled upon him had told her it was true all along.

“Y-you’re a spirit! No. Wh-what are you?!” Viktoriea hardly dared to believe it. She never wanted to believe it. She backed away from his apparition, shaking her head. _That was it then,_ she sobbed. Her worst fear was confirmed. Everything _good_ that the Maker had given her…she had _spoiled_.

Nevin watched her wretchedly, his arm outstretched for her but she turned away from his hand, hugging herself as she cried. “The Veil is thin here,” he said in a wavering voice, “or so I’m told. I guess…I guess someone thought you could use the comfort of a friendly face…”

Her knees buckled and collapsed beneath her. She fell forward into the snow and sobbed. She relished in the icy chill of the slush soaking through her clothes. It reminded her of her _reality_. Her _ugly_ and _mage-wrought_ reality. She had never _wanted_ to believe it. She had always hoped that Nevin had made it away from the Conclave before it exploded. She had begged with the Maker during her sleepless nights to spare him. Prayed that _she_ was not truly the _only_ one to escape… _Never_. Never before had her prayers been answered. The prayers of a _mage_ fell on deaf ears, and instead of help her, the Maker saw her punished with more and more suffering. He gifted her a fractured _glimpse_ of what she could have had, a fleeting feeling of happiness and then _ripped_ it from her grasp. He looked down on her with a shaking finger and boomed, _This is the bane of a mage, Blight-tainted purveyor of demons!_ He did it to her time and time again, each instance twisting her in her own grief forever. Was this what a mage’s life was supposed to be? Was she cursed even by her Maker for being born with power? Always to suffer, and never to know peace? Would she have to bear this burden, _the burden of Andraste_ , for the rest of her _miserable_ life?

“I-I tried to reach you, Viktoriea…”

She shook her head violently, howling with her rendered heart into the snow. “Don’t!” she cried wretchedly. _Don’t_. Don’t tell her of how valiantly Nevin fought and _died_. Don’t tell her how he charged through the lines of demons to try to _find her_. Don’t tell her how he screamed her name in the chaos, choked on it, as he was ran through by a demon’s claws. Don’t tell her how his last thought was of _her_ and the life they _could have had_ , as he slumped to the floor in a pool of his own thickening blood.

“I was _so scared_ for you—”

_“STOP, DEMON!”_

Viktoriea fixed the specter of Ser Nevin with a tearful glare, her face crumpling with another wail of misery. The shock and hurt was too much for her. _Too much_. Too much all at once. If she could, she would plunge her hand into her chest to rip her heart away; _just stop the agony!_ If he were real, she would beg Nevin to run her through with his holy sword. Smite this wretched mage. She let her head fall again, utterly defeated.

“ _I am no demon, Viktoriea!_ You _needed_ me and I _came_ , just as I promised I always would!” The specter fell to its knees beside her and reached for her shaking body.

“I don’t believe in ghosts!” she choked. “That man whose shape you have _stolen_ is no longer with me. _Release him!”_ Viktoriea shoved his hand away from her face, her mouth twisting in disgust.

_“No?”_ Nevin’s voice broke harshly. “No? I am _always_ with you, Viktoriea! I made a promise to you!” He battled her weak attempts to stop him, and cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look up at him. He was desperate, agonized, his tears flowing just as freely as hers over his cheeks. “Or did you think you fell that great bear all on your own?” he whispered with a shaky laugh.

She looked up at him, wanting desperately to believe his words but knowing—as it had been drilled in every mage-child—that she should never believe a specter of the Fade.

“It _is_ me, as it has _always_ been me.” He searched her face, for what, Viktoriea didn’t know. There was nothing that she could possibly give him. Everything she had, had been sundered from her. “I’ve been waiting for you to come, Viktoriea. I’ve been holding on…just-just to say goodbye.” His lip quivered and he looked away from her, his own sob breaking from his throat.

“I can’t say goodbye,” Viktoriea moaned piteously, “not to _you_ … I owe you _so much_ and all I-I-I gave you in return was…” She broke, closed her eyes, as her guilt punched a ragged, gaping hole in her chest.

He gently shook her face in his hands, coaxing her to look at him again. “To have _held your hand_ for _an instant_ was enough for me, lass,” he swore vehemently. “I saw you to the Conclave. I saw the end to my life’s purpose beside you. Any Templar should be honored by your guidance. You are wiser than you know, and an honest leader, with a humanity—a spark for life—that can’t be put out. You can be stubborn as all hell, but you always do what is unshakably _right_. _You_ are the head the Order needs! You are _Andraste’s Herald_ , and _we_ are Her knights. Lead us to a brighter dawn where they can realize their _true_ calling, as we did in Ostwick!” He pressed his forehead to hers and she gasped at the warmth that radiated through her. Her hand reached up and grasped at his face, if only to keep him there, if only she could reverse his fate if she clung to him hard enough. “Show us a future where a Templar and a mage are _united!”_ Nevin crashed his lips against hers and Viktoriea moaned as the hole tore deeper through her heart. “One where they can _love_.”

Viktoriea shook her head against him. She was too weak. She could never be half the mage, a _piece_ of the leader Nevin wanted for her to be. She would disappoint all of them, lead them all astray. How could she unite a force that despised her? How could she lead when she had no notion of where she was headed? What dawn could come when all before her was pressing darkness? When her life was in shambles, and her heart was cleaved in two, there could be no hope. Not for her, and not for any that followed her.

All that faced her was total destruction.

And she was so abhorrently sorry.

“Nevin, I can’t. _I can’t!”_ She shook. “I’m _not_ what you _believe_ I am!”

“You are _everything_ I believe you are, Viktoriea! _Find it!_ You know what you have to do, you were there when we worked together, and we can do so again. You can’t give up on us, lass. You’ve seen us for what we are. Now give us _direction_ , and together we can shape the future out of the chaos.”

“I-I can’t do it… Not alone.”

“You’re not alone, lass. Raise your eyes. The answer is all around you.”

Viktoriea felt his words stir inside her. She felt their truth clear in the shattered recesses of her heart and though she knew what to do, she couldn’t make herself stop sobbing. Her arms trembled beneath her weight, the ice winked and glittered at her, urging her, the frosty air stung across her wet cheeks and she was _alive_. She felt her future grasp her with an iron fingers and she was not alone, Andraste has guided her. Time and time again, She has guided her. Viktoriea’s hands clenched into fists in the snow, and she is _strong_. She is _determined_.

When she finally looks up, Nevin is gone and Viktoriea had made her decision.

* * *

 

The small company of horses trudges forward over the rugged terrain, saying little.

Varric complains, but when doesn’t he? Viktoriea ignores all her companions for the most part, resolute in her path. She knows the steps, and she urges her horse to take them with certainty.

“Not that I don’t love riding horses all over Thedas,” Varric pipes up as he adjusts himself in his saddle for the umpteenth time. “But I don’t think this is the way to Redcliffe, Tingles.”

Cassandra answers before Viktoriea could. “No. It’s not.”

They reach the crest of a small hill and Viktoriea pulls on her reins to survey the mighty, towering walls of the fortress Therinfal Redoubt in the distance. They all look on in silence, Varric and Bull’s jaws drop and they wait for an explanation. Viktoriea cannot give them one. All she knows is that she is in the right place. She feels her heart pounding in her chest, nervous but _right_. She knows deep down that this is where she was always meant to come. She had seen firsthand the _goodness_ of a Templar who knew their purpose, and all the misguided that resided in that fortress now deserved the chance to be saved as surely as the men at Ostwick. She had made the mistake of giving the rebel mages the benefit of her doubt, and how many had she lost for it? She would not cast the hopeless aside any longer. A mage always had their power. They always had a chance. A Templar was helpless in obeying orders, whether they were wrong or not. She had been given insight in both sides of their coin: coercive warriors and pitiful cowards. A mage would step in and grant them the power their sworn oaths were supposed to uphold.

This was her path, and she is certain of it now.

Somewhere in the distance, she swears that she hears a glorious sound that soars in her heart: Knight-Templar Nevin’s clear, unbridled, and joyous laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me! I really love how this has turned out and thank you for the lovely messages I got while writing it.
> 
> I got to like Knight-Commander Avod maybe a little bit too much and I'm sad he had such a short part in Viktoriea's timeline.
> 
> Each of you readers are precious to me, yay! Thank you for your support. :D

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments much appreciated. Thanks for reading!


End file.
